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open — sounds fake, but okay.
Who: peter nureyev as pierce steel and you.
Where: a lawn full of mugs, a library, and other places.
When: july.
What: it's a catch-all.
Warnings: he's made of knives and high heels?
Where: a lawn full of mugs, a library, and other places.
When: july.
What: it's a catch-all.
Warnings: he's made of knives and high heels?
o n e — location: a house of knives & bad puns
[ did you think you were going to have a fairly normal day today? that's funny, peter did too. in fact, he was hoping today would be kind of sort of just a little bit normal, but after the very brief discussion indoors about how the weather is supposed to be very muggy today and confronting the suspicious lack of mugs in the entire house, well. it's sort of panning out to be anything but. ]
If he were actually concerned about being murdered in his sleep, he wouldn't do things like this.
[ peter nureyev is picking up mugs from the lawn. lots and lots of mugs. all kinds of mugs. help him or laugh at him, or distract him from mug removal. ]
t w o — location: your friendly neighborhood librarian
[ do you know how long it takes to put a library's entire collection back together even in a small town like wayward pines after monsters literally tear them off the shelves?
well it fucking does if you're not a goddamn librarian to begin with.
but thankfully, peter is a quick study, and whatever residual memories he's got still rattling about on whatever old-fashioned archival systems the kids are using these days (and some quick research) is put to good use since the giant blow up. finally, however, finally everything is back on the shelf, tables and chairs are righted and fixed, and things are... fairly sound-looking. it's nice. weirdly nice. and doesn't feel a lick like it used to now that the haze over his brain is gone and peter is 100% confident that this is not his home and it never has been. now it's just like every else: a cover. a more boring ruse than he's used to.
regardless, now that everything is clean and back on the shelf, peter can get down to business. pierce steel is still a librarian after all, but now that peter remembers everything about back home--the grand archives and sprawling planets and star systems--well, he can feel that much more comfortable settling into the skin of a lie that feels like he possesses it that much more. seated on top of the circulation desk, made up of 75% leg and and 25% knives (including the very nice pair of heels he's sporting), is pierce steel, your local neighborhood librarian, with a stack of history books next to him and one particularly enormous one in his lap. ]
t h r e e — location: wildcard
[ hit me up on plurk @wolvesmouth if you'd like an individual starter or whip something up yourself. ]
no subject
So that's a little odd.
He doesn't stop himself, he allows the drive to continue while he slowly brings life to the rest of his sensors and inputs. He's driving, there's a road, paved, familiar although he can't place it at the moment. Architecture around, mostly right angles, dull materials. A bit primitive. He can't place the style. And a weight unaccounted for, in his ... driver's seat?
Little red lights slowly light throughout the sleek black dash, lights that have never had cause to light before. A few moments pass, the full time it takes for Knock Out to fully wake up and take a reading of the situation around -- and inside -- him. An alien planet, an alien driver, and he can't reach Breakdown on any of their frequencies. Great.
The rearview mirror adjusts itself just slightly, checking for tailgaters. There are none. Good.
He slams on the brakes. ]
bless this mess
the ruby 7 was about as sentient as a car got for nureyev, at least back on mars. hell, he'd let her do most of the driving during their getaway, steering her sure, hitting the gas, but she knew her way around, knew how to think in a fight. so...
well. the fact that the car so rudely stops at the end of a street has nureyev jostling forward uncomfortably (we love a good seatbelt, don't we) adjusting his glasses somewhat in the rearview and pausing a little bit.
because the angle is somewhat off. he keeps a hand on the steering wheel now as he smooths a hand briefly over the dash. ]
Doing all right there, darling? Should I be worried?
[ talking to cars like people, as you do when you're peter nureyev. ]
weeps openly ........ i’m still sorry for this 2 YEAR LATE TAG IN
The doors unlock with a smooth click, and the driver’s side door pushes wide open. The seatbelt click off too, while he’s thinking about it. He usually uses those to trap in twitchy little organics, no use keeping it on now. ]
I think this is your stop, fleshie.
[ The deep, smooth voice comes from nowhere in particular, just generally inside, and the red lights pulse in time with it.
And then he waits. He has no idea where he is or why, could it really be that easy? Will the little organic he woke up with inside of him, just ... peacefully exit? Oh, he hopes so. He has so much to sort through and work out, he’d hate having to break his perfectly normal vehicle appearance while he has so little idea of what’s going on. ]